Deadly Sins
by antiskeptic01
Summary: Deception, knowledge and ambition. Three Girls. Slytherin House. A powerful motive. And a familys deepest desire.
1. Default Chapter

Deadly Sins  
  
There were always three of us. Deception, knowledge and ambition. Like we were bred to be from the beginning. We had followers. Of course we did, those who trail like sheep always one step behind. Of course. Those who didn't know us might mistake them as part of us. But those who did, knew the truth, and deep down so did the sheep. 


	2. Chapter One Lailath

Lailath  
  
~I'm not afraid of dying. It's living I'm terrified of.~  
  
White lightning ripped across the sky as sudden thunder echoed in the dungeons. A foreboding statement that could be heard yet not seen in the damp darkness of the dorms the Head Girl occupied. Lying on her bed, Lailath's face contorted in a matter of pure frustration, anger and hate. The last letter she had received from her sister lay open; the parchment was worn thin and slightly damp from being held by clammy, sweating hands. The brunette girls breathing came in shallow, shuddering gasps, as if a great pressure was being held on his chest, pushing the life out of him. And it was. Ever so slowly. Violet eyes re-read the letter for the fifth time since it's arrival.  
  
Lailath and Mya, The time is drawing closer. We have less than one month to prepare for the mark. The Dark Lord is anxious to see where our capabilities and loyalties lie. I'm anxious as well. We cannot shame this family. It has been a long time since  
  
the Vista dynasty has wielded its power once more. It is time faith touched reality. . -Demeter  
  
Lailath desperately tried to grab onto a strand of hope, a stretch of a dream that could take away this life she knew. But reality closed in. All she could do was dream. Nothing could help him to escape this hell that had been looming closer since her fourth year. Her family expected Lailath to be the next generation of Death Eaters, creating a necessary redemption of their lost status. If only they knew what went through Lailath's head. Dreams of defying her tyrant family. Dreams of defeating the Dark Lord himself. Dreams of freedom. But those dreams always ended the same. The laughing face of her family would haunt the trails of happiness, jolting Lailath back to consciousness. That thought made the girl's stomach lurch.  
  
She threw open the door to the adjoining bathroom, grabbing a wastebasket as her stomach heaved. Her shoulders hunched, and hot tears streamed down her face, she fell to the floor. Her stomach spasmed again, and again, until she felt as if her lungs would come up next. After some time, Lailath finally stood, gripping the sink with normally delicate fingers.  
  
Running her forearm across her mouth, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Night tinted strands stuck to her ghostly pale, wet face. Usually blazing eyes had lost their brightness, replaced by a dull glazed look. Shirt plastered to a sweat soaked body. Lailath slowly undid the buttons of her shirt with fumbling fingers, leaning her head against the cool glass of the mirror for support. She threw her shirt on the floor, the rest of her clothes following, falling in a heap next to the sink. Stumbling to the shower, Lailath managed to turn the tap to cold, hoping the frigid temperature would relieve the burning in her head.  
  
Standing under the jet of freezing water, the icy blasts dug into her back and neck like a thousand knives. Frantic thoughts began running through Lailath's mind. Less than a month...death eater...shame...have they been watching me this whole time...Her voice echoed within her own head. What the hell am I supposed to do now? It's not like I can stop them...I'll be killed either way. Slamming her eyes shut, Lailath let the water continue to stab her, welcoming the pain.  
  
After a while, fatigue finally crept over the girl. She turned off the tap and stood dripping while she reached for a towel. After drying herself and brushing her teeth, she returned to her dorm, where she slipped into a pair of silky, black pajamas before climbing into bed for the night. Looking beside her pillow, she saw the letter that still lay open. Grabbing her wand, she torched the letter in anger, letting the ashes fall onto the floor.  
  
Lying back on her bed, Lailath finally managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep.  
  
All she saw was her and her sisters, standing before Voldemort. Lailath was on bended knee, the marks of abuse visible on her face and arms. She looked up in time to see her sisters administer a final blow, that cruel, sadistic look in their eyes. They were laughing. Lailath's eyes flew open, her breath coming hard. "Damn you, father." 


	3. Chapter Two Mya

Mya  
  
She'd decided long ago that it was her eyes that drew them in.  
  
Brown from a distance, but closer it became a complete startling color of violet. Changing color according to light...near darkness, they shined more, and had a black outline with brazen purple inside. In the moonlight they glistened and silver flecks danced pas des chats around the lunar reflection. It occurred to her that he'd never seen her in light.  
  
Right now, her eyes were full of fire. Passion, she thought he probably thought was for him. He trailed a finger down her cheek lazily, noting how her vanilla lip salve had smudged at the corners. She knew he thought she was beautiful. They were games she played to help entice. Constantly asking him to prove it to her. She complained that she wasn't the right shape - she was too fat, too curvy, too everything. It had taken him all night to quash that notion from her mind. There was a stray lock of her hair lingering at her throat, and he twisted it around his finger, noting the way it floated like a feather under his grasp, until he released it, and it traced patterns along his skin as it fell to her shoulder.  
  
He kissed her then; softly, a brushing of lips, and then again, pushing more this time and allowing himself a small moan to himself at her hand drifting up to run through his hair. It shined from the light of the wall candles placed not too far away on the stone walls. He moved onto her, and took delight in her small sigh as he did so. He bought a hand up once more to her head, and brushed the palm along her pale cheek before entwining it in her hair again, crimson on ivory and silk on velvet, causing shadows along the corridor. She kissed his neck, a sign of needing more, and he complied, letting his tongue explore her mouth as he ran a hand down her side, teasing, and let it rest on her stomach.  
  
"Wait," she said suddenly, and he drew back, she knew he was confused, but he would accept the coming of explanation. "Not here," she whispered, and took his hand, drawing him along the corridor to a haven, a place of sanctity where no other would find them. This was fantasy made into reality for him. And he would dream it for the rest of his life. They reached the stairs, and he kissed her from behind, patient no longer for their journey to be complete. She pushed him away with a small smile, and ran quickly up the stairs. He smiled. Another game. He was willing to comply, and play by her rules.  
  
She quieted him at his protests when they emerged at the top of the tower. His lips brushed the soft skin where her jaw met her ear, and she whimpered.  
  
"Not here either, princess," he whispered softly, and she merely smiled in reply. She led him over to the edge of the tower, and bid him look up.  
  
"What do you see?"  
  
"Stars." She smiled, and entwined her fingers with his. Then she sighed softly, her breath brushing his cheek and making him shiver.  
  
She smiled at his closeness to her at that simple moment, placing his head on her shoulder and breathing in the smell of her; lavender on her skin, jasmine from her platinum hair. She knew she was everything he had ever wanted. He had wanted power, eternal power, but he would give it all up for her. He thought she had wanted fire, a fiery passion that only he could provide. And he had willingly given her it. She knew the day had come to initialize her family's re-assent to the dark throne. He would find that out in time. She also knew that on the day retribution would occur, his demise would occur. He would occupy a life of dark muses and everlong melancholy. He wanted her - not like a small child wants a new toy, but in the way that the ambitious desire their ambitions, with a desire that a sadist has for pain, a longing that the living have for the dead and above all, with unquestionable and undying love for every fibre of her being.  
  
-  
  
He hoped she loved him as much. She seemed to, though she never said - whether through shyness or fear of his reaction he was not entirely sure. Sometimes, though - like then - he felt that she needed to know of his love, even if he would never know of hers. He whispered her name into her neck, and lifted his head so that their eyes met. He saw a spark within the flecks of grey and violet, and knew no words could convey what he was trying to confess. She saw it too, and fell into him, crushing her mouth to his as they struggled for some queer loss of reality that all beings strive for subconsciously.  
  
He glanced up and realized in a moment the sheer beauty of a cloak falling gracefully to the floor. Not falling in a way of regret or of misuse, but of acceptance and complacency. He wanted this. He needed this. He was sure not to rush, to take his time over undressing her, but in the end could not control his human instincts and tore the shirt from her body, releasing a small moan from her mouth and taking his own pleasure from that one small sound.  
  
-  
  
It was closure, closure and a sanctuary, a safe place that she desired. Not eternal loss of loneliness or some queer sort of connection of souls. Just...to be safe. To feel loved and to not fear the dark. For a few minutes. That's why she loved the dark. When the night roared into light it became her sanctuary. Her salvation, and hope. For hope is important, as trite as it may seem and as clichéd, perhaps...but without hope, there is no love. 


	4. Chapter Three Demeter

Demeter  
  
I'm falling. I'm flying. I'm screaming. I'm everything in a moment; everything I am and everything I'm not and everything I've always wanted to be.  
  
My hands are clenching white sheets, balling cotton into my fists, and I don't have time to think about the thread count of his linens, or ponder the rip in his pillowcase, suspiciously the size and narrow shape of a blade. There is only Harry. Harry's mouth on yours, Harry's hands gripping your back, Harry's nails digging pretty little crescents into your shoulders. Harry pressed hard against you, so good, so bad, so right and so wrong.  
  
This is what you think when you come.  
  
When it's over, and he pulls away, I'm back to reality, I'm back to everything I've always been, back to nothing, just panting breath and sticky skin and guessing the thread count of his sheets. I look at him, and his green eyes seem to flash without fading. It reminds you of an Unforgivable Curse cast in the dark, the light of its power lasting until it will be forgiven.  
  
And you cling to that fire in his eyes, because you think it will always be there; that Harry is and will always be Harry, even when you're nobody, everybody, and something in between.  
  
-  
  
The house was old. It had been falling apart by its hinges for ages, crumbling one decayed shingle at a time for as long as anyone could remember. Demeter couldn't remember. The windows were crusted with dirt or dust or blood or all of those combined; it didn't really matter. What mattered was that flash of green, bright enough to blind in the middle of the night, untouched by the grime of the windows. And, of course, the black silence that followed.  
  
-  
  
When he sleeps, I think, he forgets. Forgets all about his unfinished Potions final, due the next morning. Forgets that he won't be sleeping here in another week, but in a bed that's too stiff, and in a house that's too cold. Forgets about things like destiny and sacrifice and good versus evil.  
  
It's a peaceful sleep, rounded by twitching smiles and lazy half-turns. I picture his dreams as full of blue sky and green grass and white smiles, where laughter is a drug, and nobody has a single scar. Then you picture his nightmares.  
  
Not because you really care, but because I have my own waiting, and it's easier to imagine his.  
  
It's dark behind the curtains of the four-post bed I'm sharing with him. I can't see a thing. But I can feel him. I constantly touch him, brushing against his skin with lingering, absent sweeps of your fingertips, through the strong silk of his hair, then over the softness of the back of his hand, and the hardness of the palm.  
  
And if I hadn't been thinking about the nightmares, and if it hadn't been so dark, I would have noticed that it was my name I was tracing into his hair, his skin, over and over again. 


	5. Significance

Nickelback Figured you out  
  
I like your pants around your feet I like the dirt that's on your knees And I like the way you still say please While you're looking up at me You're like my favourite damn disease  
  
And I love the places that we go And I love the people that you know And I love the way you can't say no Too many long lines in a row I love the powder on your nose  
  
Ooooh And now I know who you are It wasn't that hard Just to figure you out And now I know who you are It wasn't that hard Just to figure you out  
  
I like the freckles on your chest And I like the way you like me best And I like the way you're not impressed, While you put me to the test I like the wine stains on your dress  
  
And I love the way you pass the check And I love the good times that you wreck And I love your lack of self respect While you're passed out on the deck I love my hands around your neck  
  
And now I know who you are It wasn't that hard Just to figure you out And now I know who you are It wasn't that hard Just to figure you out  
  
I love your pants around your feet And I love the dirt that's on your knees And I like the way you still say please While you're looking up at me You're like my favourite damn disease  
  
And I hate the places that we go And I hate the people that you know And I hate the way you can't say no Too many long lines in a row I hate the powder on your nose  
  
And now I know who you are It wasn't that hard Just to figure you out And now I know who you are It wasn't that hard Just to figure you out  
  
*So your probably wondering why I added this, well it emphasizes the story as a whole* 


End file.
